Bedridden
by Zombiebrainz
Summary: archie is really sick. like not puke-y sick but instead fever sick. bed-ridden and kinda delusional, at least he has maxie to bring him back to sanity. [ hardenshipping, maxie/archie, maxie x archie, one shot, yeah u got it ]


The concerned voices spun dizzyingly around him, dipping in and out of unconsciousness. The deeper ones were faint, practically nonexistent, but Shelly's always ran clear, her mantra of, "Just one call, boss, and we'll be right back with you, just one call…" swimming through his sickened mind. Just one call? His voice was barely able to lift itself above a whisper, scratchy and hurting, sore as if he had been screaming all night long. The woman's huge mass of hair seemed to split itself into multiple duplicates, her face acquiring a third eye, the left part of her lips fading.  
"Just one call, boss, one call."  
Archie blinked and suddenly Shelly was normal, though still was his vision foggy. He picked out the dark blue paint of his bedroom walls, felt the soft, cushiony blankets of his bed beneath his fingers.  
He dug them in, reassuring himself that everything was real.

"I hear you," he mumbled, voice low and gravelly, Shelly looking at him in concern. Her lips were pursed and her hand settled upon her hip in a motherly fashion, as though contemplating getting him something. "… Just call if you need us, Archie," she repeated for perhaps the twentieth time, gently patting his shoulder, trying to remain respectful of their different statuses of power even though he was too sick to do anything. "Your fever isn't going to be getting better anytime soon, but we'll be checking up on you constantly. Stick through it, hun."  
He blinked passively at her and she sighed, quietly making her way out of his bedroom, closing the door behind herself.

Archie stared at the wood.  
He saw images of water pokemon leaping out of the ocean in it, of children playing and splashing in the cool water under the summer sun. He blinked, the images changing, altering themselves.  
The children grew and morphed, their smiles of delight contorting into snarls of disdain, their fists clenching, bloody and raw, screams ripping from their throats. The peaceful Water-type pokemon surging up from the water became battling Poochyenas, bloodied and battle-torn. He could see the fur hanging off one's neck, another bleeding so badly it could barely stand.  
The sounds of yelping, crying, and snarling filled his ears, Archie's hands snapping out, fumbling desperately for his pillow, crushing it to his ears as he closed his eyes.

"Make it stop," he whined softly, eyes screwing shut even tighter. "Make it stop, make it stop…"  
"Shelly, I need you back… Shelly…"  
Archie's voice barely rose above a whisper, his desperate chant only heard by his pillow as he gently rocked beneath the sheets, body shuddering with sickness as a cold sweat overtook him.  
Eventually, he passed out, images of death imprinted on his mind.

-

It was too bright.  
It scorched his eyes, as though a desert sun loomed over him.  
_Parched, _he was parched, so thirsty—the sun was resilient, and it glowed vivid, bright, hungry.  
No matter which way he turned, it was still there, and in fact, it seemed to follow him through the sky.  
A predator prowling after its weakened prey, the light danced at his heels, mocking him as he fruitlessly threw up his arms, trying to shield himself from it.  
Why was it so bright?  
It had been so cool and dark moments before, soothing on his skin, but it so seemed he was not to remain blessed with such a setting.

_Archie._

The sun was speaking.  
It was mocking him now, he was sure of it.

Tentatively, despite all the childhood warnings of not to look into the sun, he gazed upward, blinded by it but desiring to somehow challenge it.  
_Archie, can you hear me?  
_Of course he could hear it! Did it not see him looking right at it, or rather, attempting to? It burned, making his thirst seemingly worse. His tongue felt like sandpaper. His throat felt layered with sand.  
_Archie, you need to wake up. Wake up, Archie, wake up…_

The sun was so demanding, and it was sinking lower now—no, no it was lowering itself to the ground. Archie looked on in shock, unable to comprehend the sun actually being able to _move, _and suddenly, tendrils of light shot from it, latching onto him.  
Opening his mouth to scream, nothing came out, Archie thrashing in its grip to no avail.  
_Let go! _he silently screamed, writhing with determination.  
_Let go, let go, let go-_

"Archie!"

He sat up abruptly, breathing heavy, eyes wide with panic as they darted about the bedroom, hunting for the enemy that sought his end. Sweat dripped down his left temple, Archie shuddering as sickness clutched at him again, eyes closing again as he breathed.  
"Archie, lay back down—god, you look terrible."  
Thoughtlessly, he obeyed the voice that had previously haunted his dream, thumping back onto the soft assortment of pillows that had been propped up just for him while he had been sitting up.  
Had the sun come from his dreams to mock him still?  
No, its tone was not mocking, not derisive.  
Actually, it seemed almost concerned, if not rather criticizing as well.

"God, did someone really just leave you here like this? You can't let someone sweat out a fever by themselves…"  
Something soft and cool, wet, touched to his forehead and Archie leaned into the heavenly sensation, his eyes slowly peeling back open, feeling as though cement had glued them shut.  
Foggy vision slowly clearing, the sun gradually faded into view and-  
"What are you doing here, Maxie?"

The low rasp of his voice must have been concerning in itself for the Magma leader paused in gently wiping away the sweat that had gathered on his forehead, frowning at him.  
"You stole some things of mine. And I figured this would be a likely place for you to hide them, since you have before—but it doesn't matter why I'm here. How long have you been this sick, with no one around?"  
Archie blinked at Maxie as he slowly processed the information he was handed, which waded through the thick molasses which was his mind until finally it all clicked and he could figure out a proper response.

"Shelly was here… A little bit ago," he huffed, finding himself far more concerned with the hand that had retracted from tending to his forehead. "I didn't say you could stop," Archie grumbled, reaching out to grip Maxie's hand and push it back, though this time to his cheek. His grip was weak and barely existent on Maxie's wrist, but Maxie let his hand be manipulated, Archie barely even able to hold his head up. His cheek rubbed faintly against his hand, Maxie suppressing a sigh.  
"There should always be someone at your bedside. Who knows if you could get worse?"  
Archie's head was lolling and he reached out, his free hand pressing lightly against the side of the sick man's jaw to gently lower him back down to the pillows.  
"I'm just fine," sighed Archie, Maxie fussily fixing his pillows, fluffing them and readjusting them behind his head.

"You are the opposite of fine. In fact, you look absolutely terrible. The fact you are even awake is astounding," Maxie corrected, setting aside the washcloth and the cold bowl of water he had brought.  
Admittedly, he had broken in.  
It wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last.  
Archie had lured him here time and time again, stealing something of his and taking it back here for Maxie to come to retrieve, though usually, Archie wasn't as sick as a Growlithe.  
At least he had adapted, learning about even the nooks and crannies of the small house and had been able to find his way around fine.

The only thing that had put him off was the lack of Archie greeting him.  
He had given up on being 'sneaky' about breaking in—Archie might as well as leave the back door open for him, for often enough he was lounging around with a huge grin, waiting to say hello.  
Maxie could only wonder if he was lonely.

"I knew you'd come."  
Maxie paused in his contemplation, looking back to Archie. From a sweaty panic, it seemed Archie had calmed down some—his smile was even back, almost the same as the same smile he always gave Maxie when he came here.  
"Y'know, I'd, uh, rather have you here… than Shelly… or any of them."  
Maxie stared in surprise, wondering if Archie's fever was giving him a loose tongue, or if perhaps he was hallucinating.  
"You should just visit… Instead of me stealing your junk… I don't even like your stuff anyways."

He was smiling like an idiot.  
Well, he was an idiot, but it was strangely endearing this time around.  
Frowning, Maxie, who had been kneeling down next to the bed, shifted, his knees sore from his position.  
"You mean, 'I hate you and never want you to ever come around', yes, Archie?" he gently corrected, though his tone was dry as he sat down on the bed next to the Aqua leader.  
He froze as Archie reached out, tugging on his arm, obviously wanting him to lay down.

Tentatively, Maxie looked to the doorway—empty, no one around—and then back to Archie, who was still silently, weakly, tugging at his arm.  
Wanting to heave enough begrudging sigh, Maxie only caved, settling down next to Archie.  
An arm hooked around his waist and Archie rested his forehead on Maxie's shoulder, closing his eyes.

"Whatever you want, Maxie."


End file.
